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“May, what kind of cheese is in the lasagna?” Henry asks, rubbing my forearm.
“Oh, do you like it? I make the ricotta myself. I find it much creamier than anything I can find from a supplier. Every time I serve this dish at the restaurant, it sells out, so I must be on to something.” She grins. “I know this isn’t the same caliber as those meals your Michelin Star chefs make you, but folks around here seem to like it.”
“No, you’re right, it’s not.” Henry winks. “It’s better.”
The key to Aunt May’s heart is complimenting her cooking, and Henry seems to have figured that out. She beams. “You’ll have to come into the Pearl to try my cheesecake, then. I use the same ricotta.”
“You would not have to twist my arm. That is a favorite of mine.”
“It is?” I rack my brain thinking back on meals we’ve had together. Has Henry ever ordered dessert? “How did I not know that?” Is he telling the truth or is it part of a game to win May over?
“Because you’ve only been together for two minutes,” Jed mutters under his breath.
I frown. Jed and I have been on much better terms over the last few months. I’ve even started considering him a friend. But he seems gloomy tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d say news of my engagement might be too big a pill for him to swallow.
I dismiss his sulking and focus on Henry. “So if our wedding cake is made of cheese, you’ll eat it?”
“Oh, I’ll definitely eat it,” he teases, with a wicked glint in his eye that tells me he’s not talking about wedding cake.
I give his ankle a playful kick as my face flushes. “Good, I’ll tell Jill.” I spent two hours on the phone with Wolf Hotel’s event planner yesterday. It was overwhelming, to say the least, and I think she sensed it because she gave me an easy and fun homework assignment—set up a Pinterest board with wedding ideas.
“Who’s Jill?” Mama asks.
Here we go. “Our wedding planner.”
“You don’t need one of those pretentious fussy bodies,” she scoffs, waving me off. “They cost a fortune and all she’ll do is take over your wedding.”
“Imagine that,” I force out through clenched teeth.
Daddy clears his throat, and Henry presses his lips together to smother his smile.
“No need, anyway. I’ve already got Peggy Sue’s niece lined up to make the cake—”
“Let’s leave all that wedding business forafterdinner,” my father cuts in, his uneasy gaze on me as I silently fume.
But, as usual, Mama’s not listening to anyone but herself. “She’s making you a fruitcake. A good,traditionalchoice.”
“Ihatefruitcake!” I snap, tossing my fork down. It lands with a clatter. “Peggy Sue’s niece isnotmaking our wedding cake.” I can’t take another minute of this. It has to end now. “Angela, Joy, and Diana arenotmy bridesmaids. And I amnotriding to my wedding in a wagon driven by the Amish man who lives down the road!” I may as well lay it all out on the table. “We’re not getting married in Greenbank, Mama.”
Silence hangs like a heavy curtain around the dining table as anxious glances flitter toward Bernadette, waiting for her reaction.
Her face is a mask of shock, as if my words have slapped her across the cheek without warning. As if she couldn’t foresee this. “What do you mean, you’re not getting married in Greenbank? Of course you are. You’re a Mitchell. This is your home. Your family is here, your congregation is here!”
Hercongregation, that I’ve been indoctrinated into from birth, not by choice. I haven’t been to church once since I left Greenbank. “We’re getting married in Alaska,” I say calmly. I don’t care if we’re married in a church or a reception hall or in a damn field, but I leave that part out for now.
“No way,” Jed blurts, his expression filling with excitement. “We’re invited, right?”
“Unfortunately,” Henry says before gulping back a mouthful of wine.
“Roger!” Mama glares at my father. “Talk some sense into the girl!”
Daddy sighs with resignation and pours himself more wine. “Abbi’s got plenty of sense.”
A wildness flickers in her eyes as they dart around the table, searching for allies, realizing she has none. At least, not ones who will step in to involve themselves so blatantly.
“I’ll start the coffee pot.” Celeste is on her feet quickly to collect empty plates.
“I’ll help.” Laura scurries behind her.
